What Was And Is No More
by Hope Shalott
Summary: /Permit me to unburden my heart/ An exploration of the transformation into vampire and the price one must pay. In two parts.
1. What Was

**Title:** What Was And Is No More

**Summary**: "Permit me to unburden my heart" An exploration of the transformation into vampire and the price one must pay. In two parts.

**Disclaimer**: Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer and this story is produced without profit. Cover photo is free use and belongs to .

**Characters:** Lauren

**Genre: **Tragedy/Horror

**Rating**: Older Teen

**Warnings:** Graphic scenes of violence.

**Status**: Completed.

**Archiving**: Please PM me.

**Inspirations/Dedications: **

**Author's Notes: **Title is from a song called_Vos Geven Iz Geven Un Nito_ as is the quote which is slightly adapted to suit.

* * *

**What Was And Is No More:**

**_Part One_**

* * *

_Permit me to unburden my heart._  
_Whether I talk sense or whether I talk from sadness,_  
_I suffer from a disease that is not called an illness._  
_It gnaws and it yearns._  
_What was, was - and is no more._

* * *

"Hey Lauren! Can you add another coke for table five?"

I nod and head off to the kitchen. The cafe is full, bustling with activity and families hoping to take advantage of the rare day of sunshine. I hand the cook the orders and pour four cokes from the dispenser. Before picking up my tray, I take a sneaky glance at my watch. Only two more hours to go.

My boyfriend, Tyler, has taken a seat at one of the booths, even though I've asked him not to visit me in work on many occasions. Six hours on your feet, serving the greasiest food known to man, and even the most beautiful woman in the world would have trouble looking her best. As it stands, my long blonde hair is scraped back in a clip and the dowdy uniform does nothing to flatter my figure.

"Hey babe." Tyler yells. I force a smile, pick up my flip pad and walk over to his booth. He's with his friends, so I brace myself for the lewd comments that they can't seem to help themselves from spewing. Tyler scoops me up in a hug. His tongue is making its way down my throat before I can even think. I pull back, making an excuse about proper professional behaviour and trying to ignore the slight nausea that is creeping up my stomach.

I suppose if I ever allowed myself to confide in someone, they would tell me that when even the thought of kissing your boyfriend makes you feel sick, it is probably best to leave and move on-but it's not always that easy.

"Hey. Do you guys want to order?" I say, flipping open my pad and pasting on a smile. I could write their orders down from memory-they never change, so I use the opportunity to zone out a little. Just three more days. Three more days and I can leave Forks and never look back.

After making the proper amount of small talk, and dropping the order off with the cook, I tell Shelley that I need to use the bathroom. I don't. Instead, I sit there, picking at the loose, yellowed sealant and counting the cracks in the tiles. My pumps squeak on the linoleum as I drag my feet across it. The sound is high, and harsh, and strangely comforting. A perfect foil to the dull buzzing of silence in my ears.

In three days I'll be gone. Maybe I'll be dragging my feet across a grotty old floor elsewhere. It's even possible that all my dreams may crumble around me, but as long as it is not here then I'll be okay. I'm sure of it.

_It has to be._

I am barely back on the floor when Shelley accosts me. "The hustle isn't dying down. Can you stay til closing?"

I bite back a no. There may come a day when I need Shelley to give me a reference. A little bit of trouble now will make things easier in the long run. I do allow myself a small sigh. "Okay, sure."

...

* * *

It's true that when you're having fun time goes far too quickly, but when you are waiting tables, one second can feel like one hour. Einstein's Theory of Relativity-after a fashion. I stopped watching the clock an hour ago. It only seems to drag more.

We have one customer in, a old man who smells like he's just come in from a bar, and I am cleaning tables when Shelley tells me I can go. I pray that the scent of lemon disinfectant will wash out of my hair. It's already dark outside and I wish I had the foresight to bring a jacket with me.

The night air is fresh and crisp but I can't see any beauty in it. All I want is to go home, soak in a hot bubble bath and pretend that I don't have to work tomorrow. Then I remember that I didn't drive to work this morning, because I assumed that I would be out in time to enjoy the sunshine whilst getting some exercise.

I debate collapsing onto the floor and screaming until it somehow delivers me to my doorstep, but I settle for the more practical option instead. There's nothing like a late night walk to clear your lungs and make you appreciate the comforts of your bed. I set my hair free from its clip and run my fingers through it. I had it cut short once, one of my many attempts to get out of this town, and never again. It took me far too long to grow it back and left me pretty much heartbroken.

"Working and walking. The joys of being an adult." I mutter to myself. The air is cool against my skin, sending little shivers down my spine. I check over my shoulder, just to make sure but the street behind me is empty. There is not a soul out tonight but I'm more bothered by the burn that's starting on the soles of my feet. I'll be lucky if I can stand tomorrow, never mind work.

Something darts behind me. I spin around, expecting to see a rat or a raccoon or something but there is nothing there. My pounding heart settles as I hear a car engine a slight distance away. Just knowing that someone else is around is enough to make me feel better, but I keep a hand on the canister of pepper spray I store in my purse. Just in case.

The car is familiar. A Cullen's car. Edward's to be exact. It slows to a crawl beside me. I pick up my pace when I notice that it isn't not Edward in the driving seat. If the driver recognises my discomfort, they seem unconcerned by it, the car continues to move slowly beside me. I decide that my pride is not worth my life and I make a decision to run. I'm only one step into my sprint when I feel arms around me. The last thing I remember is a solid weight hitting my head.

...

The flicker of the street lamps bring me out of my memory. I can hear whispered voices all around me. Apparently, I am awake.

"Edward said not to take from this area." The voice is soft, melodic; a woman's voice. "That was the deal."

"How were we to know she was from this area? Besides, there are many girls here. If they find out then we'll say we found her elsewhere." The answering voice is not a womans but the elegant, smooth tones are still the same. The accent gives me more trouble. It's a slightly stilted version of American. It sounds dated. Hints of old English heritage break through every other word.

I try to sit up, and mutter something but my words come out in unintelligible babble. The change in position brings on a wave of dizziness and I sink back into the seat. We're still moving, shadows flickering as we pass clusters of trees. That's when I really begin to panic.

It must show on my face or something because the man peers into the rear-view mirror, his eyes settling on mine, shining red as the light hits the back of his retina. His jaw clenches, and he turns his face slightly. "The smell is stronger in this air."

The woman nods, I can feel her chest move against my back. Her arms feel like lead around me. "Less pollution. That's why it's worse in the countryside." She leans over slightly. "Try your best to ignore it for now. It will be more enjoyable if we don't have to worry about being discovered."

Oh god. I am being kidnapped by two psychopaths who plan on torturing me and killing me. I have to escape, I know this, but I can't think clearly. Terrified rage infuses my limbs and I lash out against the woman. My hand cracks as it connects with her skin and I let out a howl of pain. Her eyes glitter in the dark, red as rubies. Just like the other one. I don't allow my confusion to cloud my ability to plot, to plan.

"Stop fighting," she hisses at me. "It is pointless."

I swallow a sob. If I die tonight then they will never have heard me beg or seen me cry. She tosses me to the side. There is a small dent in the car door, where her back has been resting. There may even be a small chance that the locking mechanism has been damaged. If I apply enough pressure, I might be able to force it open. I sink back, giving the appearance of submission and resting my weight against the door. She nods, slightly and turns her face back to the driver. As soon as her eyes are on him, I kick out with both feet, using her as leverage and force myself against the door. The lock pops and I am falling backwards onto the ground. I don't look behind me, I scramble to my feet and I run.

...


	2. And Is No More

**Title:** What Was And Is No More

**Summary**: "Permit me to unburden my heart" An exploration of the transformation into vampire and the price one must pay. In two parts.

**Disclaimer**: Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer and this story is produced without profit. Cover photo is free use and belongs to .

**Characters:** Lauren

**Genre: **Tragedy/Horror

**Rating**: Older Teen

**Warnings:** Graphic scenes of violence.

**Status**: Completed.

**Archiving**: Please PM me.

**Inspirations/Dedications: **

**Author's Notes: **Title is from a song called_Vos Geven Iz Geven Un Nito_ as is the quote which is slightly adapted to suit.

* * *

**What Was And Is No More:**

**_Part Two_**

* * *

No matter where I hide, they seem to find me. They have bought me to a forest, one I don't recognise, as absurd as that thought is. After a while of running, I begin to get the feeling that they are purposely chasing me. Perhaps they find it funny to hunt me down before they kill me. Isn't that the staple of every horror movie going?

But I am not a frail and helpless girl. I am not Bella Swan, I think with a bitter laugh and the thought inspires me with fresh hope and a sick feeling of humour. What would Bella Swan do in this situation?, I think to myself, and then I vow to do the opposite. That alone will surely keep me alive.

I run again, ignoring the burning in my calves. Footsteps pound the floor behind me so I push myself faster. If I can just break through the woods, I can shout for help. I wince as a bright light hits the back of my eyes. My first thought is that it is a torch and I've been discovered, then another passes in a blur. Cars. Through those trees is a road.

I push off in a run but I am barely two yards away from the road when a solid weight drops onto my back. I hit the ground face first, breathing up a mouthful of dirt and moss. I kick out but I'm crippled by a searing pain in my neck. I wonder for a moment if an animal has gotten me. A mountain lion maybe and I wonder why such a death seems better. And then I see the hands in the dirt beside me, almost translucent in the dark. They claw at the ground as the mouth at my neck whips my head from side to side. Blood floods my mouth, drips down my chin. I choke and gurgle and I try to breathe. The attack is savage, it is cruel but most of all it's unfair. I'm so close to the trees, to my escape, and now all I can do is stare at the fleeting possibility and howl in despair.

Within minutes, I'm burning.

* * *

It is the last day of school and I'm standing in the courtyard. The scene is the same. How I view it is different. The definition is sharper though the colours are dull. The trees are not green. The sky is not blue. They are colours I have never seen before, shades of those that they are supposed to be but not quite right.

The sun is blazing heat, setting fire on my skin so that I can hardly bear it. I don't remember it being this hot but the atmosphere is the same. A almost palatable sense of freedom, maturity-hope, in the air. We are starting afresh, though this time around I'm on the outside, looking in. I've spent most of my life here, and now I can't seem to fit. Everything is right, but nothing is as it should be.

Bella Swan is there, standing across the food court, finger glistening with absolute proof of her ongoing infatuation. Her face is clear of interest for the petty and trivial happenings in the lives of people she considers friends but treats as acquaintances. I've known most of these people my entire life, and even though some aren't beautiful, intelligent, or even mature, they've never been anything but themselves. There's a beauty in such openness and it amuses me that Bella thinks she is better.

She likes to believe I'm jealous of her but the truth is much more simple. That Bella Swan belittles my friends is enough reason for me to dislike her. That she doesn't realise she is doing it is enough for me to not even try to overcome my antipathy towards her. Suddenly, the sun is overbearing and I can't stand it any longer. It seeps into my skin, eating away at me like acid until I burst into the brightest flame and consume everything in my path.

Only one thought guides me through the inferno that is blazing through my heart. I will dream tomorrow.

* * *

Steady rain is beating against my eardrums. My eyes open against my will and I try to force them closed. I need more time. I don't know what for, but I do know that I'm not ready. The burning has stopped, ebbed away into a dull ache, though the fire in my throat still burns. My limbs feel longer, lighter even when I settle them on the bed with a heavy thud. It takes too much effort to move.

I curl onto my side and my arm slides smoothly under my face. The skin is perfect to the touch. Not warm, not cold, although I feel a chill deep inside me. Something is very wrong. I am missing a-part, a piece that makes me tick.

"I was beginning to think you would never wake up."

I'm not alarmed at the voice. The footsteps on the stairs were like thunder to my ears. I don't speak. I'm not even sure that the voice would be mine.

"I know this is a little strange for you, but wait until you see what you have become. The power and beauty you have. Things will be better."

She speaks softly, but her voice has lost that melodic tone I remember hearing in the car. I can recognise its beauty, her beauty, but it no longer inspires the same feeling in me. "You should get up," she says, poking my shoulder. I don't want to get up. I want to go back to sleep, then I can wake up and everything will make more sense. My eyes close but my brain won't switch off, it won't settle. Sleep seems foreign to me. I shift, trying to get comfortable, and the movement sends the heavy stink of perspiration to my nostrils. The smell hits the back of my throat and I wait for the familiar roiling of my stomach. It doesn't come.

"My name is Charlotte. You don't have to be afraid of us." There's an unspoken qualification at the end of her phrase. I don't have to be afraid of them _anymore_, but I still remember that they tried to kill me.

I can't speak at first. My throat is still burning, but when my words do come, they're a surprise even to myself. "I should go home. My family will be worried about me." I say, in the most delicious, unfamiliar dulcet tones. This is not my voice.

Charlotte smiles at me. I would find her expression almost sad if I didn't believe she was evil incarnate. "They're not your family anymore. Things are different now. You're different now. But you don't have to worry," she adds quickly, as though she has given too much away far too soon. "We'll help you." She smooths my hair off my face and looks down at me. Her crimson eyes are wistful, empty. I realise that she is not looking at me at all. "It's my fault." she says, softly. "I should have finished it but I couldn't. It just seemed such a waste."

I don't know what she is referring to and I don't care enough to find out. I close my eyes and beg for sleep but my mind just keeps ticking, processing smells and sounds and images-painting over each and every memory until I feel that I'm viewing it through the eyes of a stranger. Charlotte pulls back the blanket. I'm naked beneath it but she doesn't seem to share my discomfort at this. She pulls me to my feet with no effort. Not even half a step later we are standing before a fabulous antique mirror, covered with a dusty blanket. On my feet, I am light and graceful. I feel like I'm floating. It is a myriad of tiny, minute actions that bring me crashing back down to earth.

In the split second it takes for the blanket to slip from the mirror, for the glass to reflect my image back at me, for my death to become undeniable-I close my eyes and hope. But it's too late for hope.

The person in the mirror is beautiful, she is beyond beautiful. No painter could ever capture the stunning collection of features that make her so extraordinary. Everything from her long, elegant limbs and ivory smooth skin to her creamy, long blonde hair. Her features have been carved from the rarest and most beautiful of stone. Her lips seem fuller, curving in a undecipherable, enchanting expression. Her brow is high, her cheeks are soft. The subtle shape of her eyes is more defined. They have taken on an almost catlike tilt, framed by long, dark lashes. The subtle features are familiar to me. It is as though somebody has broken my face into a thousand pieces and then put everything back in a position that enhances every feature. With one difference. Sea green eyes are gone, replaced by a deep shining red, the colour of soft velvet.

This girl is me. She is me at my most beautiful but there's something missing. I raise my hand to my chest, keeping a wary eye on this stranger in the mirror and that's the moment I realise the price for my new beauty. They have taken my heart. I don't know how but my heart no longer beats. Sadness, rage, bitterness flood my stomach. I feel them inside, settling in the pit of my stomach. I need to cry, I want to cry but the sadness won't reach my eyes. It's unmoving. I try to force it up, my chest heaving, but there is something blocking it.

I have no heart left to break. My emotions will stay trapped in the pit of my stomach. I'll know they are there but I'll never be able to feel them. I stare back at the girl in the mirror—at me, and I think about the trade I have been forced to make. My heart, my humanity, for hollow emotions and an undying ache in the back of my throat.

The glass shatters under my fist. My ears capture every crystallised twinkle as the pieces hit the floor. I catch my reflection in a jagged fragment. A picture of perfection, a work of art, but there is no beauty in this. There are so many questions whirling through my mind but only one is important. I know the answer, without knowing how, I know it.

I will never dream again.

* * *

~fin~


End file.
